This girl is the face between my hands.
A dairy of tales under a tired moon.
a lone walk decorated with history of silence.
On the table is her body.
marked scars of destinations I should know.
She is speaking slowly and surely of cities, darkness and sore.
The girl in my photograph is a memory.
A long shot from the green scenes I am now used to.
Her eyes are stoic and quiet
But I hear whispering songs saying
“I rehearsed my life in front of mirrors”
The girl I sit with has glee on her tongue, a settling song that fills her insides.
Laughing, swinging from story to story
In my ears were her gospel
“I am enough, gold and whole”
I am sitting here
Knowing that every girl has been me